


The Baker and the Bobby

by avespika



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avespika/pseuds/avespika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whouffaldi murder mystery AU. Clara is a constable in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood. The Doctor owns a bakery and the increasing rental costs may force him out. Someone is poisoning locals and visitors alike. When the Doctor becomes a suspect can Clara separate her feelings from her duty?  Can she find the true culprit in time to save her new friend and the neighborhood she's sworn to protect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> If I get any details of policing in the UK wrong please feel free to correct me!

Constable Clara Oswald was finally on her own. Her own beat, her own police vehicle (ok, a bicycle), and her own flat without a roommate. She had it made.

Most nights she had the overnight shift, 11pm to 7am. Her assignment was to patrol a neighborhood called Deerfield. It was presently rough but showed signs of progress; the perfect combination of a solid community and just enough crime to keep things interesting. It suited her well.

The evening of her first shift she knotted and re-knotted her tie, straightened her cap, and set off to pace her route. The first hours were fairly exciting. The pubs closed and she spent a while directing their patrons toward trains, introducing herself to the bartenders, and even breaking up a fist fight. But as the night wore on she grew increasingly bored. She would have liked to get to know the neighborhood more, all the shopkeepers, residents, and culture. But one downside to an overnight patrol was that most of the citizens she had promised to serve were fast asleep.

After her fourth trip down a particular bit of road she noticed a light shining out of the front window of one of the little shops that littered Deerfield. Gazing up, she read the sign to herself. Gallifrey Bakery. Must be Irish or maybe Scottish. And why would a bakery be open at, what was it, 3:30 in the morning?

Clara thought for a moment. Either the shop was being broken into, in which case she had a duty to enter and stop the crime. Alternatively, the shop’s proprietor was an extremely early riser and she might as well meet them and introduce herself. Convinced she was correct either way, Clara tried the door.

Surprisingly, it was unlocked. A small bell jangled overhead as she pushed her way into the shop. She was immediately greeted by a bright light and the heavy scent of yeast and cinnamon. A few comfortable-looking chairs were scattered about, along with low tables which held a chess set, coasters, and a few books and magazine. Behind the counter stood a gleaming espresso machine. Clara smiled with appreciation. She could absolutely enjoy a coffee at the moment. She took a step forward to search out assistance when she heard a ringing Scottish voice call from behind a door.

“Don’t open until six, come back then! Bloody lock must have stuck again,” it grumbled, growing nearer with each word. “If you’re looking to rob the place, again, I’ll have to ask you to return later. Vastra handles the financials. I don’t even have access to my own safe.”

A tall, thin man emerged through a swinging door at the back of the shop. He had a deeply lined face and what she thought might be grey hair, though that might be a discoloration from the thin coating of flour he wore from top to bottom. Even his boots were lightly dusted, leaving a trail as he approached the counter.

“Didn’t you hear me? Not open.” The man looked from her bowler hat to her boots. “And I haven’t got any doughnuts so sod off.”

Clara blinked back at him. He might be awake early in the morning but he still whined like a sleep-deprived teenager. She decided to chance an introduction anyway. “Constable Clara Oswald at your service. I didn’t stop in for sweets. I’m the new patrol officer for Deerfield. I thought I’d check if your shop was being burgled, considering the door was wide open.”

“Faulty lock, I’ve been meaning to take a look at it.”

“Well, I trust you feel secure enough, then. But should anything happen feel free to call down to the precinct. They can have me here at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, if a deranged man with a knife bursts into my bakery I’ll be sure to call for the young lady playing dress-up.”

Clara gestured to the number on her shoulder. “Actual constable, thank you.”

“Really! You certainly don’t seem to fit the height requirement.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “That was removed in the 1990s, or have you not been outside during sunlight hours since then?”

“Oh has it! Well good for you then. Now go get a kitten out of a tree or write some traffic tickets or whatever it is you do.”

“I don’t even have your name.”

“The Doctor, now run off, there’s a good lass.”

“Doctor who? Or do I have to wait until daylight hours when someone is tending the till who doesn’t drive away customers with a series of unpleasant comments offered all too early in the morning?”

“Just the Doctor. And Jenny gets in at six, she can see you then.” He turned and exited back through the swinging door.

Annoyed and without a much hoped-for cup of coffee Clara stalked out, taking care to set the lock properly as she went. This Doctor might be rude, but he was a citizen in her jurisdiction and she did not want to leave him open to theft or violence. The fix was temporary but hopefully he followed through on repairing it. She happily spent the rest of her shift testing the doors of other shops along the street, noting with satisfaction that all of their locks worked.


	2. Chapter Two

Why would a baker be awake so early? Clara had let the question nag her over the next few days. Each night she walked or cycled past Gallifrey Bakery and found that the light came on between 3:00 and 3:30. She tried to ignore the question, focusing instead of the other stops along her path.

A week later she finally gave into her curiosity and tried the door again. Once again it yielded to a slight push, allowing her to access the quiet dining area. “Still haven’t fixed that lock I see!” she called.

“You again? Clarence was it? My lock and my shop aren’t your concern," the Doctor responded from the back room. 

“Clara and yes they are, I’m responsible for the safety of Deerfield and that includes you.”

The Doctor stepped through the door and sighed. “Alright, I’ve got a screwdriver somewhere, let’s take a look, and see if it gets you to leave me alone.”

Clara watched as he removed his apron, placed it on a hook, and approached her. Up close he seemed even more angular, all limbs and eyebrows. She wondered if he ever smiled or laughed. She supposed he must have some facial expression aside from a scowl as something had to account for all of the creases in his face. He bent over the lock, fiddled with it a moment, then straightened. “There. All fixed. Let’s test it, shall we?” And with that he gestured at the door, indicating she should retreat. Reluctantly, Clara backed out, still wishing she’d had the opportunity to ask why he was awake at such an early hour. He shut the door behind her, smiled through the glass, and turned to retreat.

At least one of her questions was answered, he did smile. She found it unexpectedly endearing, like the smile of a child who knows he’s misbehaving but is relishing the feeling anyway. She decided to respond in-kind and tried the door again. It swung back open with a soft pop.

“Ineffective repair. Try again!” she said cheerfully. “Perhaps your lock needs to be oiled, not poked at?”

The Doctor paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, and then retreated to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a bottle of oil and a rag. Kneeling before the door he applied some oil and tested the handle, which seemed to catch properly this time. He looked up at her.

“Thank you is usually the appropriate response,” she chided him.

“Coffee?”

Clara smiled. “Even more appropriate than thank you.”

He led her to the counter and disappeared behind it, reemerging with a mug in hand. “Or tea, I suppose, if you prefer.”

“If it weren’t four in the morning, sure, but right now coffee will do. I take it with cream, no sugar, thank you.”

A moment later he slid the mug across the counter to her and stared. She lifted the mug, tipped it back, and felt a warm rush of gratitude. “This was worth being kicked out of your shop twice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Clara.”

He’d learned her name after all. “So, Doctor. Why up so early?”

“Bakery’s rush is the morning. All the dough proofs overnight. I come in early and get the day’s baking started.”

“Makes sense.”

He shrugged. “I’m out by 9. Not bad.”

“Does your wife run the shop the rest of the time?”

He looked confused. “Jenny is Vastra’s wife, not mine. I’m just me. They’re my partners in the business sense. This whole thing was Jenny’s idea, when I came back from travelling. She knew I’d worked in pastry shops all over to earn my fare to the next stop on my travels. When I came back I made an almond croissant she fancied and next thing you know I was laminating dough at three in the morning.”

“Makes sense, good location?”

The Doctor let out a sharp chuckle. Clara’s second question was answered, he also laughed. “Sure, if the rent holds. But the area is changing, getting less rough and more refined each week. Landlord is bound to start charging us more soon. Then, who knows?”

Clara glanced at her watch and was startled to realize she had spent far too long in the bakery. “Still enough rough bits to Deerfield that I’ve really got to go. Thanks for the coffee. Remember, call if you need anything.”

“Will do, Constable Clara Oswald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will feature Vastra and Jenny. I don't think we'll get to the murder mystery part of this story for a few more chapters but I promise it's coming!


	3. Chapter Three

Clara had her first alternate shift a few days later, working from 3pm to 11pm. She took the chance to meet a greater variety of the locals. There was a nice couple, Ben and Ricardo, who lived in the flat next to the Red Lion pub. Ricardo was also the local florist, with a little shop near their flat. The doctor’s surgery was staffed by a young physician called Martha. Mrs. Murphy lived above the small market and, it turned out, owned that entire building. Rebecca was the mechanic on the corner. Nate ran the dry cleaner. Albert, Constance, and their small daughter Lydia lived next to the park. She tried to commit each name to memory.

After a few rounds she passed Gallifrey Bakery and peeked inside. The place was empty and the staff appeared to be closing up. She entered anyway.

Clara was greeted by a pretty brunette who was wiping the counters down. “Sorry love, we’re about to close up.”

“That’s alright, I was just stopping in to introduce myself. Constable Clara Oswald. I’m usually the night patrol but we alternate occasionally to get a better sense of the neighborhood.”

“Oh yes, we know the usual fellow, Adrian isn’t it?”

Clara smiled. Adrian was far more easily unnerved than she was and had been relieved when she’d offered to take most of the evening shifts. “Yes, that’s him. Adrian most days, me most nights, others as assigned to fill in the gaps.”

“I’m Jenny. My wife’s in the back. VASTRA! We’ve got a visitor!”

A tall woman, serious looking woman dressed all in black glided through the rear door. She had deep, almost greenish olive skin and an accent Clara couldn’t place. “Yes?”

“Vastra, meet Constable Clara Oswald, Adrian’s evening counterpart. Constable this is my wife, Vastra.” 

“Pleased to meet you. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Clara nodded. “Sure, that would be lovely.”

Vastra turned to Jenny. “Darling, fetch us some tea please?” She gestured to the stools at the counter. “Have a seat. So, what do you think of Deerfield so far?”

“I quite like it,” Clara responded. “I rented a place right on the border of the neighborhood. Everything inside was too expensive. It seems like a friendly neighborhood, though it sounds like it’s changing a bit.”

Vastra responded. “Oh yes. When we first opened we only served commuters rushing through to offices or the train. It’s gotten more prosperous. Nicer pubs, better flats. Rumors of an art gallery.”

Clara responded with mock horror. “An art gallery?!”

Vastra nodded. “Changing neighborhood. Before the bakery we owned a fencing training studio. That didn’t last long in the old Deerfield.”

“Do you think the bakery can last now?”

Jenny returned with the tea. “Sales are up.”

“Yes dear, that’s true. But so is the rent over this time last year. When our next lease ends the landlord is bound to demand more. At that point we will have to consider things.”

Clara decided it was time to change the subject to something less distressing to her hosts. “So, swords to scones. How did that happen?”

Jenny spoke up. “Well, as madame was saying, the fencing studio wasn’t doing so well. We were trying to decide what to do next, whether we should stay in the neighborhood or move, what we should do for work, when our friend returned from travelling. Been all around the world, the Doctor has, and all of it paid for by taking odd jobs here and there. He came by for dinner one night and made these almond croissants.” Jenny smiled with pride. “I knew right then we had to try our hand at a bakery. Vastra took some convincing but eventually she agreed and now we’ve been here, what is it now, five years?”

“Yes, five years. I never expected the Doctor to stick around so long,” Vastra said.

“I met him. Twice now, really early in the morning. Bit rude,” said Clara.

Vastra shook her head. “Not rude, not exactly. But not always kind either. More like… selective.”

 Clara raised her eyebrows. “Well, I certainly haven’t been ‘selected’ then. He wasn’t thrilled with me testing his lock. But at least it’s fixed now.”

Jenny gasped. “Oh of course! You’re the bobby he was grumbling about the other day. ‘Disturbed my work, wouldn’t shut up, face as round as the moon.’ He went on and on!”

Clara rolled her eyes. “I figured as much. I won’t bother him again, unless there’s an active crime in progress. Though I may stop by on a day off sometime. This is a nice place and you make an excellent cuppa.”

Vastra shrugged. “It might do him well to be bothered a bit. He doesn’t get out much. He lives in his head too much.”

“Maybe I won’t leave him off my list of stops, then.”

Jenny nodded. “Yes, and feel free to stop by again during the day sometime. I’d love to hear some of your policing stories!”

Clara spent the next few minutes relating several of her favorite stories to a wide-eyed Jenny and a bemused Vastra. By the time she turned to leave she they'd discussed the quality of the various local pubs, fencing, and more about the rumored art gallery. Pleased to have met more people and perhaps made a few new friends Clara ended her shift and bicycled back to her nearby flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vastra is tricky to get right- I'll be on the lookout for fics where she's well-written to teach myself a few things. Hopefully I can do her justice in future chapters!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- this chapter includes some references to domestic violence but it doesn't involve the main characters. It's in the context of Clara's policing duties. Still wanted to give a head's up in case anyone has concerns about exposure to that sort of thing.
> 
> I've never written anything of this sort so if it comes off as an indelicate treatment of the topic please let me know. I actually work with survivors as part of my job so I'm familiar with some of the language, and I've tried to make Clara's approach trauma-informed in line with modern policing, but it's hard to convey what that looks like in the middle of an action scene.

Clara’s next shift was far more exciting, and distressing, than the previous weeks had been. A few hours after midnight she heard screaming as she walked by a group of rental flats. She stood still for a moment, trying to determine if this was just an out of control party or if someone was being injured. When a second piercing screamed echoed down the street she ran up the stairs, locating a third floor unit as the source. She knocked on the door. “Police, open.”

Silence, followed by whimpering. Clara knocked again. Still nothing. And no warrant. Was the scream enough that she thought someone was in imminent danger of serious harm? She turned the question over in mind and decided to knock one more time.

This time the door was opened by a young woman, maybe twenty years old at most. She looked around frantically. “Is he back,” she whispered, urgently.

“I’m alone.” Clara replied. “Is someone hurting you?”

“My boyfriend called me. Said he’s on his way. Said he saw me out with someone else. It was my cousin, I swear, just my cousin. I screamed at him not to come but he said if I leave this building he’ll find me. He always finds me.”

A pair of headlights flashed briefly and lit the window. She needed to act quickly. “Down the fire escape,” she urged the woman.

The woman froze and gazed up at her. Clara could feel herself sweat collecting under her collar and her breath quickening. But she needed to remain calm. Maybe a different approach. Maybe this woman was ordered around so much she went immobile whenever instructed to do something. Given the situation at hand it seemed likely. She was certainly even more afraid than Clara. Clara took a deep breath, steadied herself, and spoke again. “What’s your name?”

The woman trembled but managed to say “Ava.”

“Alright Ava, we’re ok for now. We need to get you out of here. You have a fire escape, right?” Clara nodded, encouraging the other woman to nod along. “Good. Show me.” Clara heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. She turned and locked the door, hoping to slow down the potential assailant. She gently placed her arm around Ava and guided her toward a large window. Looking down she found the fire escape. She pushed aside the drapes, heaved the heavy window open, and gently guided Ava onto the outdoor staircase.

Suddenly someone was hammering on the door. Ava stiffened, unable to continue descending. A loud, deep voice bellowed from just outside the door. “Ava you whore. Fucking let me in. I know what you did!” Jangling keys. The lock began to click. For a brief second Clara froze, unsure if she should concentrate on getting Ava out of the flat or making sure the man outside couldn’t pursue her. Gritting her teeth, she determined immediate safety was more important. As she heard the man step through the door she grabbed Ava’s hand and tugged her down the steps, clattering loudly. She knew the man wouldn’t be far behind. Open window, blowing curtains, sound of feet on metal stairs. It was obvious which way Ava had fled. He might even try to head them off around the front of the building. By the time they reached the bottom of the fire escape Clara was pulling Ava into a run, dashing toward the next street over and, hopefully, a covered place from which she might call for back up.

They sprinted for three blocks. Finally she spotted a lit window. She tried the door and found it locked. Pounding on the door she shouted “Police, emergency, open, please!”

She felt a mixture of relief and dread when she spotted the Doctor sprinting out of the kitchen toward the door. She’d run all the way to Gallifrey Bakery.  He pulled the door open and she half-shoved Ava inside. “Hide her.”

The Doctor looked at her quizzically but waived Ava back into the kitchen with him. Clara relocked the door and then radioed her precinct.

“Constable Oswald, fourteen hundred block of Springfield Road. I’ve got an incident of possible domestic violence. I’ve got the victim with me but assailant is likely in pursuit.”

“Got it, sending backup.” 

“Thanks.”

Clara crossed her arms and stood facing the door, catching her breath. Someone angry enough could certainly smash the glass front of the bakery but they sure as hell weren’t getting past her to Ava. She hoped the backup arrived quickly. She crouched down, hopefully out of sight from anyone using the front entrance. She looked up to find the Doctor staring down at her.

“She’s seated in my broom cupboard. I’ve also locked the back door. Now tell me why you’ve demanded entry into my place of business in the middle of the night?”

“Probable domestic violence incident. And you should hide as well. Kill the lights. Maybe he won’t realize this is where I’ve taken her.” The room went dark.

“Yes, but why my bakery?”

“Only place open. Needed a secure spot to call backup.”

“If anything is damaged, you’re paying.”

“Bakery before innocent lives, noted. But yes, if anything is damaged you’ll be reimbursed by the government.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t care about innocent lives.”

“Doctor, I don’t have time to argue this with you. Try to keep quiet. If you want to be useful, go stand guard at the back door. If someone tries to open it, call for me.” She heard him exhale dismissively, but found he disappeared from her side.

The next few seconds felt like hours as Clara awaited either backup or, potentially, the fight of her life. She had no idea who this man was, whether he was somehow armed, and just how dangerous he could be. She heard the front door handle jangled, followed by someone calling, “police!” But her radio had not gone off to alert her that backup was drawing near. And the voice was deep, but she wasn’t sure it was the same voice as before. Cautiously, she tapped her radio and whispered “Oswald to dispatch. Backup status?”

“About three minutes out.”

Her heart raced. The man at the door was not her backup. “Got that. Unknown male trying to breach our…” but she never got to finish that statement. A loud shattering announced something had been smashed through the glass at the front of the bakery. Shit. She had to act.

Clara stood, feeling adrenaline coursing through her system. A man stepped through the hole in the glass. In the light of the streetlamp she noted average build, blond, green eyes. She might have to identify him later. He held a cricket bat in his hand, which explained the shattered glass. And he’d just noticed Clara.

The man ran toward her, bat raised. “I saw the light go out. Where did you take her?”

Clara ducked, rolling out of the reach of the bat. The man turned, enraged, toward her. As she rose he landed the bat on the flat of her back. She felt a momentary sharp pain but turned back toward him, diving at his legs. Unsteadied by her offensive maneuver he crashed to the floor, the cricket bat rolling away. Clara quickly unhooked her handcuffs and scrambled back toward the man. He struggled to rise. She launched herself on top of him, pinning him down and locking him into the handcuffs. At that moment she felt the headlights of her backup’s car cross her face. She remained at the assailant’s feet, stopping him from rising.

“Woah, Oswald, what happened?” Constables McMillan and Levin stepped through the glass. Clara had never been so happy to see the two men before in her life.

“Quite a lot,” she responded breathlessly.

“We’ve got it from here.” McMillian stood the man up and tucked him into the car. “Round up the others, bring them down to the precinct to give statements.”

“Of course, see you there.” Clara turned to fetch Ava. She found the Doctor standing in the kitchen doorway, massive eyebrows furrowed so hard she felt they were attacking her. “Sorry about your shop.”

“Vastra’s going to be cross.”

“And you aren’t? I’m sorry, for what that’s worth.”

“Don’t-”

“How much did you see, anyway?”

The Doctor shook his head. “I- all of it, I guess. You were- are you injured?”

“Thanks. And just a bruise, I should be fine. But I’m afraid I have to ask you to come with me to the precinct. Since you saw it. I used force, tackling that man, so there will be a bit of an inquiry. Plus, if there are charges, the statements from tonight will help support them.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably but ultimately gave her a tight nod. “Right. Let me call Jenny and Vastra.”

“I’ll get Ava and we can walk down together. It’s only a few blocks.”

Clara crossed into the kitchen of Gallifrey Bakery for the first time. She noted it was much larger than the initial storefront let on. She wondered who occupied the flats above it. Turning to the broom cupboard she knelt down to speak to a quivering Ava. “It’s ok, they’ve got him. I do need you to come with me, ok? That way we can talk a little about what happened, make sure he can’t do it again, and find you someone to talk to about all of this. We’ve got a wonderful victim advocate, Saibra, she’ll help, ok?” Ava nodded and allowed Clara to pull her to a standing position.

“He was my cousin, I was only with my cousin.”

“Ava, it doesn’t matter who you were with, ok? You can spend time with whoever you please. We’re going to talk to some people who can help you with that.”

Vastra and Jenny appeared, clad in dressing gowns, as Clara collected the Doctor. It turned out they had the top floor of the building as a flat, with the Doctor below them. Convenient if a bit dull. “I’m sorry about the window,” Clara greeted them.

“The Doctor filled us in,” said Vastra. “We understand."

“I really appreciate it. And I definitely still have a lot to learn, we usually use chemical spray in situations like this but he was too fast.”

Clara escorted Ava, still a bit shaky and the Doctor, quite twitchy, to her precinct. It was going to be an exhausting morning.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an exposition dump but I'll try to remedy that in coming chapters.

The Doctor was unusually jumpy as they made their way into the local police precinct. 

He had no idea how the incredibly small, remarkably fierce Constable did it, nor did he want to know. His prior life had been a run around the world trying to clean up the work of soldiers and police officers. Baking, bar tending, even busking in between to raise the funds to travel to the next country and start all over again, urging someone, anyone, to take the land mine issue seriously.

He was just a doctoral candidate in history when it started, young and impulsive. He had fallen in love with another student, a brilliant archaeologist in training. River Song. Even to this day her name sent a chill through him. River had gone off on a dig in a remote place and they’d exchanged letter after letter. Finally he’d bought a ring and a plane ticket. 

Only he wished he hadn’t waited so long. Instead of a bit of ancient pottery River had dug up a dated land mine. She was gone, a mere eight hours before he landed. The first year after it happened was a haze. He numbly finished his dissertation. But he couldn’t bring himself to look for an academic job. Something else was tugging at what remained of his heart. So he took off, running to uncover other mines. He owed River that much, at least.

Twenty years of searching for mines, twenty years in jungles and deserts. And then a broken ankle, a brush with malaria, the death of his last remaining relative, all in a row. Fortunately he’d found a comfortable life alongside his old friend Vastra and her energetic young wife. And now this. A baffling young woman, all eyes and energy, toppling a man twice her size in the dining area of his bakery. She was clever but brutal, so like the soldiers that planted all of those mines. He certainly shouldn’t spend more time with her than needed.

But then he watched her behave so unlike a bobby or a squaddie. She took that poor woman, Ana or whoever, and found her a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a box of tissues. She spoke in low tones to the other officers, explaining the situation. She kept asking the Doctor if he was alright, if he needed anything, and she waited while he gave a statement to be sure.

How could someone in such a wicked profession have such a kind spirit?

Eventually he finished speaking to the other authorities and found himself outside, blinking in the early morning sun. Nearly certain that they couldn’t open the bakery without a front wall he was not sure at all what to do with the rest of his day. He turned toward the shop and set off.

“Doctor, wait!” he heard Clara call after him.

He turned to find her in jeans and a jumper, looking even less like a constable than usual. The effect was unfortunately charming, like she was just some neighborhood woman. She’s practically a soldier, he reminded himself. “What do you want?”

Clara fell into step beside him. “I wanted to thank you for cooperating. Though you were a bit mean to Constable Levin. He’s only been on the force three months. Telling him you think he’s a waste of public resources was a bit much.”

The Doctor stiffened. So she’d heard that. “Well to be fair he is a waste of public resources, Clara. He asked me the same question at least four times.”

“That’s an intentional technique. He had to see if your story changed.”

“Hmph.”

“Well just because you don’t agree doesn’t mean it isn’t effective. And for what it’s worth your story was perfectly consistent, which we do appreciate.”

He didn’t know how to respond so he kept walking.

“You are an odd one, aren’t you? Has your voice atrophied from speaking so little? Is that why you always sound a bit, I don’t know, whispery but shouty?’”

He rolled his eyes. ‘Shouty,’ him, when she was clearly the bossiest person in Deerfield. Really amusing.

“Years of hearing damage,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

“Well anyway, I thought I’d stop in and see how Vastra and Jenny are getting on without the front window. See if they need any help cleaning up whatever the precinct hasn’t gotten to.”

He responded with a non-committal shrug. They spent the rest of the walk in silence.

When they arrived back at Gallifrey Bakery they found Vastra sweeping up the last bits of glass. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Can I help with anything?” Clara returned the greeting.

“No, I’m just about done here. But Jenny’s arranging some of the finished pastries for us. Even if we can’t open today we can at least enjoy breakfast. Care to join us?”

“I’d love to.”

And that’s how he found himself seated stiffly next to Clara Oswald at the small staff table in the back of the bakery, elbows bumping into one another as they reached for jam and tea.


	6. Chapter Six

Breakfast with Vastra and Jenny was very pleasant. She couldn’t say the same for the Doctor who sat next to her, silent as a stone.

Despite the unfriendly man sitting next to her she and the women exchanged stories and she found her spirits lifted. She discovered Vastra had taught self-defense to young people in the past and still had a small training studio in the building’s basement, for her fencing mostly, but it would do for other things. That was actually how she had met Jenny. The three made plans to train together soon.

After Vastra and the Doctor stepped out to see about a temporary fix for the broken window, Clara and Jenny spent a few minutes clearing the table and running water for dishes. They talked about the different items the bakery sold and the various locals who frequented the shop. Clara moved to carry the spoons from the table to the sink but dropped them and they clattered to the ground. She bent to pick them up and found she had trouble rising.

“Are you alright miss?” Jenny asked.

“Fine, fine,” Clara groaned.

“Weren’t you cracked on the back with cricket bat last night? The Doctor mentioned it. Vastra could take a look, she’s pretty good with injuries, all those years teaching fencing and martial arts.”

“I’m ok, really.” But she struggled to rise, ultimately stumbling back to her seat at the table. Jenny left to fetch Vastra.

Vastra gently lifted Clara’s jumper and examined her back, carefully probing the point where the bat made contact. “Nothing broken, but you ought to follow up with your GP. The bruising is pretty bad. And don’t sleep on your back.” Vastra continued gently rubbing her hands across Clara’s back, soothing the muscles. “Pity, your skin is quite beautiful, I hate to see something mar it.”

“Married!” Jenny called out, gesturing to her left hand. She was laughing and smiling though, putting Clara at ease. “Sorry, my wife’s a bit of a flirt.”

“Not a problem at all." It was nice to spend time with people not on the force. She’d come to London for this job from Blackpool, leaving behind most of her friends, her dad, and her gran. And Danny’s grave, which didn’t have much of Danny in it anyway, so it wasn’t like it really mattered. Except it mattered enough that every time she came home to visit she made it her first stop.

“The bruise is recent enough that ice might still help,” Vastra said to Jenny, who nodded and went to fetch a compress. Jenny pressed it to Clara’s back. Relief spread through Clara’s system as the ice reduced the swelling and numbed the pain. She sighed contentedly.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any pain relievers?”

“Dear, this a bakery and the baker isn’t known for being the most coordinated man. He spent the first year burning himself almost constantly. Of course we have paracetamol and ibuprofen,” said Vastra. She rose and flitted through a cupboard, found a bottle, and offered a few tablets to Clara who gratefully swallowed them with the remainder of her morning tea.

“We ought to get you home. Where do you live?” said Jenny.

“Five blocks north, two blocks west.”

“Can’t have you walking too far with an injury like that on your own,” said Jenny.

“I’m fine, really, but thanks.”

“Nonsense,” said Vastra.

The Doctor stepped through the door with a large piece of canvas. “Ready when you are. I need Jenny to climb up on the awning to rig this since she’s lightest. And Vastra, you’ll have to tie the knots at the bottom. I tried to get them started but I just can’t get them tight enough.”

Vastra gazed back at him. “Well, if you want our help that means you’ll have to walk Clara home."

A scowl crossed the Doctor’s face. “The window can wait.”

“No, it can’t, it’s about to rain,” Jenny observed, peaking out the window over the sink.

“No really, I’m okay alone.”

The Doctor turned toward her. “No, they’re right. You took a blow to the back. Someone should see you home to your boyfriend.” He paused. “Or girlfriend, or whoever. I’ll get an umbrella.” She exchanged phone numbers with Jenny and then set off with the Doctor for her flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is having an annoyingly slow start- the first murder isn't until Chapter 10, but I promise it's coming. I've got to establish these friendships before I rip them apart.


	7. Chapter Seven

The skies darkened overhead as they walked down the street, Clara flinching with each step. The Doctor was surprised to find himself beginning a conversation.

“What you said before, bakery over innocent lives. That’s not what I was trying to say. I was just a bit shocked in the moment, that’s all. Sometimes I say things without thinking it through.” His face reddened with embarrassment. “I do think you did the right thing, and I’m glad I could be there to open the door for you.”

“I do the same thing sometimes, Doctor. Hazard of being a take-charge type, right? Act without speaking, or speak the wrong words in the heat of the moment.”

“Suppose so.”

They reached the door to her building. Clara gazed up the four flights of stairs she needed to ascend and groaned. “Why’d I have to go for a fourth floor walkup?”

“We could buzz up to your whoever to help you up.”

“I haven’t got a ‘whoever,’ but thanks. I think I’ll be alright.” She started up the stairs.

He followed behind her, unsure if he should offer his arm to steady her. He decided just to track close behind her, in case she slipped.

Clara let them into her flat and immediately collapsed onto the sofa. “I’ve never been so tired from a short walk and a few flights of stairs.”

“Well, it was a long night. Can I get you anything?” The words slipped out before he realized how familiar he was bein. “Before I go, I mean,” he hastily added.

“A glass of water might be nice. Kitchen is at the end of the hall.”

“Right, water. Glasses?”

“Cupboard to the left of the sink.”

“Thanks.” He wandered through her flat toward the kitchen. It was very cozy, not at all like his, which was sparse. She had shelves and shelves of books. He never would have thought a constable the reading type but there was all of Jane Austin, most of Shakespeare, and a smattering of romance, history, and science fiction. He returned with the glass of water and noticed a book placed reverently in the middle of her coffee table. “101 Place to See,” he read aloud. “Do you travel?”

Clara looked up at him with a sad smile. “No, but I’d like to. The book was my mum’s. She’s been gone about a decade now. Always said we’d fill it together but didn’t get the chance. Someday, perhaps. Have you travelled then?”

“All over. Six out of seven continents.”

“Wow. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you stop?”

“Wore myself out. I was gone, non-stop, for twenty years. It was time to settle down a bit.”

Clara nodded, her large eyes searching him. “Why’d you leave for abroad in the first place?”

“That’s a bit personal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry too that you came all this way only to have it rain on your walk back. You can stay a moment, if you like. It looks like it’ll pass quickly.”

The Doctor hesitated, then relaxed into a nearby chair. “Thanks, I’m a bit tired to go dodging puddles.” He looked around the flat and his eyes landed on a framed photo of Clara with a man of about her age, smiling broadly in front of a Christmas tree. He gestured at the frame. “Who’s that, a friend back home?”

“Now it’s my turn to say that’s a bit personal.”

“Understandable. So, where are you from anyway?”

“Blackpool. Dad and Gran are all that’s really left there and I wanted to see something new so once I finished training I came here. I’ve been on the force a few years but I’ve only recently been given my own steady beat and shift. Eventually I’d like to do special victim’s work, maybe become a detective. What about you?”

“Scotland, but everyone there’s gone. And I didn’t make many friends in the U.K. during my years abroad. When I found nowhere quite felt like home I stopped by to visit Vastra and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Worse places to end up.”

“That there are, Clara Oswald.” He found himself launching again into a deeper conversation, telling her the story of the time he was in Vietnam, omitting some key details. Namely, why he was in Vietnam in the first place, digging up undetonated mines laid by people like her. When the story concluded they were both feeling more relaxed. It was a nice distraction from the unpleasantness of the earlier portion of the day.

Clara cocked her head and considered him for a moment. “You must really love nature, all that traveling.”

“Something like that.”

She yawned heavily.

“Well, the rain’s slowed and I suppose I ought to let you get some rest. Do you need anything else, another pillow perhaps?”

“M’fine,” she waived him off. “Thanks Doctor.”

“No problem, Clara Oswald.”

He walked home in the fading rain feeling oddly light. He hadn’t shared even that much, the half-concealed Vietnam story, with anyone beside Vastra and Jenny in years. The Doctor was startled to find he was coming to think of this woman, a constable of all things, as a friend.


	8. Chapter Eight

Clara awoke in the mid-afternoon slightly stiff from having fallen asleep on the sofa. She rang her medical doctor and was glad she was able to arrange an emergency appointment for later in the day. She took the train deeper into town, was poked and prodded, and was ultimately told she had severely bruised and slightly sprained her back, accounting for her stiffness. Her doctor called the precinct and they determined Clara was to have a week off from work to rest at home. She rolled her eyes but knew she had no choice but to comply. She picked up groceries and a new book and headed back to her flat to wait out her sentence.

Clara Oswald did not do boredom well. She rested some, true. But she also made two failed soufflés, re-shelved all her books, and gave herself a series of pedicures in increasingly outrageous colors. She watched both a British and a Bollywood adaption of Pride and Prejudice. She had a long phone call with her Gran. She wrote a letter to Danny, then tucked it away to deliver to his grave next time she made it up to Blackpool.  

Two days later Jenny texted her, asking if she was alright. She responded she was fine but was put off work for a week. A few hours later Jenny showed up with a stack of movies to borrow, explaining she’d gotten the address from the Doctor.

“Thought you might be bored.”

“Thanks Jenny, this is really sweet.”

“Oh it’s nothing. The Doctor described what you did that night, Clara. How you took down that man and saved that lady. He said it was completely selfless.”

“He said that? The man I can hardly get a word out of?”

Jenny looked baffled. “Well yes, he seemed impressed. He’s quite a talker, the Doctor, once he relaxes a bit.”

“That explains it. He told me a story while he was here. About his time in Vietnam. He must have been too tired to be tense.”

Jenny nodded. “Yeah, doesn’t talk about that much, but sometimes you catch him in the right mood.” Jenny popped a movie in and sat on the couch. “Vastra and the Doctor are doing some repairs tonight to get ready for the new window. I’m too short to help so I’ve got the evening free. What do you say to a girls’ night in?”

Clara grinned. She hadn’t had anyone to just relax with since she’d moved here. “Absolutely. I’ll call for takeaway. Help yourself to the kitchen- I’ve got tea. And wine.”

Jenny returned the smile. “Wine will be perfect, thanks. After all, you’re supposed to be relaxing, aren’t you?”

They spent the rest of the evening laughing together, finishing a bottle of wine, two movies, and yet a third, equally disastrous, attempt at a soufflé. “I can never get them right!” Clara laughed.

“Don’t worry, neither can I! Of course this is the first I’ve tried. I don’t do any of the baking.”

“What? But you work at a bakery!”

“I know! The Doctor’s a bit of a control freak when it comes to the pastry. Vastra does the accounting and operations. I’m marketing and front of the house staff.”

Clara was in much better spirits as Jenny left. She'd missed having close friends more than she'd realized and Jenny and Vastra were fitting into her life seamlessly. And maybe, with time, even the Doctor would have a place.


	9. Chapter Nine

The Doctor couldn’t get the events of the night his window was broken out of him mind. It was terrible, sure, but it wasn’t nearly on the same level of the horrors he had witnessed while abroad. Truthfully it was fair less of a disaster than it might have been, given that Clara had stopped the mad man from hurting anyone. Clara. Every time he thought of her he got a headache. Too confusing.

Two days after the incident they reopened, plywood replacing the canvass over the hole while awaiting the installation of the new window the following week. He awoke just as Jenny and Vastra were closing the shop in the late afternoon. Jenny set off to check on Clara while he and Vastra got to work preparing the shop for the new window.

The Doctor and Vastra had much in common. They were not English despite living in England, they were both orphaned early in life, they were tall and lean, and neither minded spending time together in silence. They worked side by side amiably until Vastra noticed the time.

“Ten o’clock and Jenny’s still not back. She and Clara must be having fun. Good thing I’m not the jealous type.” She winked at the Doctor.

“You don’t actually think?”

“No Doctor, I know my Jenny. I was just having you on.”

“Oh. Because Clara doesn’t have a, well, whoever. I think she might have, once. There were photos in her apartment of a young man but when I asked about him she told me it was too personal.”

“Maybe like you and River.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think of her often?”

“Sometimes. But with time I’m more sure I did the right thing by her.”

“That’s healthy.”

“I suppose so. But I haven’t been sleeping well lately anyway. I can’t get my mind off the night the window was broken.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I can’t quite figure out why. It shouldn’t bother me, I’ve seen worse.”

“We could always do the one word test.”

The Doctor shook his head. “That’s your solution to everything.”

“It’s effective. I find emotions are often unnecessarily complicated. Distilling them down to a single word clarifies things.”

“Perhaps.”

“Very well then. What time did happen?”

“Three.”

“Who did it involve?”

“Neighbors.”

“What do you remember the most?”

“Sound.”

“If you could change anything about it, what would it be?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “Lights.”

“And what did you feel that night?”

“Fear.”

“For?”

“Clara,” he blurted out. Oh, he did not mean that. “And that woman. And the bakery. And myself.”

“Doctor,” Vastra held his gaze. “One word only, remember.”

“Right.”

“You said Clara, why?”

“Curiosity.”

“Because?”

“Unexpected.”

“Well there’s your answer. Things have been a bit boring around here for your taste. You’re used to a more adventurous lifestyle. And in comes a beautiful woman with plenty of danger and excitement following her. It’s natural you’d develop an interest.”

Vastra had the unique talent of sounding blunt and obscure at the same time. Interest. Lots of different meanings for interest. “I’m not interested in her, Vastra. In any sense you might have meant that. She’s a constable. I spent twenty years fixing the mistakes of officers of the law and the military. You know that.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t find her interesting.”

“I’ve got to go get the sourdough going for tomorrow.” He ended their conversation and headed into the kitchen to think.

At five in the morning a few days later he was working butter into puff pastry when he heard a knock on the door. It couldn’t be Clara- Jenny said she was off for an entire week.  He cautiously opened the door, only to find Clara, dressed in a plain skirt and jacket, on the other side.

“Bored, couldn’t sleep, trying to keep to my regular schedule in an attempt to adjust back to work next week, tried to make a soufflé, soufflé failed, decided you’d be awake and might have some tips.”

“Whatever happened to hello, good evening, how are you? Normal greetings?”

“I never would have taken you for the sort that cared about pleasantries, Doctor.” She clapped her hands together and started toward the kitchen. “Soufflés, what do you know?”

“I know I’m working right now.”

“Oh come on, I know the bakery opens at six so you’ve got most of the urgent stuff out of the way. Just give me a recipe and I’ll be off. Mine’s rubbish, it never works.”

“Maybe it’s because you can’t order a soufflé into existence.” But he still followed her into the kitchen, directed her to a chair, and started pulling out eggs.

Clara continued chattering away. “My mum made the greatest soufflé. Left me her recipe but I can’t seem to get it right.”

“Well, baking requires a great deal of patience. And knowledge of chemistry. You’ve especially got to get the eggs just right.” He handed her a bowl and watched with amusement as she fumbled with a whisk. Coordinated in combat only, it seemed. “Stir. No, not like that.”

“Show me, then.”

He exhaled forcefully. “Fine.” He slid behind her, wrapping his arms around hers, steading her wrist. “Ordinarily, we’d use a stand mixer, but mine are all too large or otherwise occupied,” he nodded toward the counter, where a mixer was churning away. “So, the old fashioned way. I know you’ve got the muscle. Use it.” After a moment he pulled away, noting with satisfaction she now had the egg whites beginning to foam. “Good. Keep that up until soft peaks. That’s where they’ll stand for a moment, but fade back into the mixture. When you reach it, let me know.” He returned the slab of dough, finishing the work and placing it into a cooling drawer.

They completed the soufflé and left it to bake. Clara sat back, watching him work. What an odd woman, spending the early morning watching an old baker at work. Absurd.

He pulled the soufflé out of the oven, noting with satisfaction that it had tripled in volume. Clara stood next to him, marveling at it. Then, to his utter shock, she stretched up and left a kiss on his cheek. He felt a rush of joy followed swiftly by a crashing dread.

“You brilliant man, you actually did it! A few more lessons with you and I’ll make my mum proud yet.”

“If the neighborhood keeps going the way it has there won’t be a bakery to have lessons in anymore.”

Fortunately Jenny had just arrived to open the bakery. “What’s this then?” she asked, strolling into the kitchen.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I tried a soufflé again.” Clara scrunched up her nose. “I thought I’d come ask the Doctor for advice, seeing as he’s a baker, but then he showed me how to do it and we made this!” She was beaming with pride. His heart fluttered.

“That’s so nice, Doctor! Shall we try it then?” The two young women were on the soufflé in a moment, cracking it open. Jenny shoved a plate in his hands.

“You know I never eat until after we open, Jenny.”

“Doctor, this is Clara’s first ever successful soufflé. And you always say, a soufflé is an urgent thing!”

Clara had turned toward him, eyes inflated to a disastrous dimension. He gave in, lifting the fork to his mouth.

“Mmm,” Clara sighed contentedly. “Just like mum’s. Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you.”              

“You could do the dishes,” he joked. But before he could correct himself Clara was standing near the sink. “No, don’t, you’re injured.” And now he was fretting over her. For fuck’s sake, this was getting ridiculous.

“I feel fine, my doctor, well, my medical doctor. Not you, my friend Doctor. Anyway, my doctor said I could return to work tomorrow. Clean bill of health. So I don’t think the dishes will be a problem.”

No, you’re the problem. You and those ridiculous eyes. “Fine then, I’ve got to get the brioche out of the oven anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main plot will finally get rolling next chapter, I'm excited!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting darker here, though the next chapter will be on the lighter side.

Clara happily returned to her beat, popping in to say hello to the Doctor every other night. He’d learned to expect her, often having a paper cup of coffee ready for her to take with her when she left. She was pleased to have won him over, at least as much as he could be won over. He wasn’t as quick to joke or as observant as Jenny, or as clever and flirtatious as Vastra, but he was intelligent and had interesting stories. And she did love watching him work, strong arms kneading stubborn dough, delicate fingers placing careful decorations on cakes. So he was attractive. She’d had crushes on plenty of friends before. Some, like Danny or Nina, turned into more. Others, like Vanessa or Naveen, faded with time. She wasn’t concerned. Except that since Danny died three years ago she’d only had short flings, nothing with any emotion attached. For the first time in so long she found her pulse quickening and her mind wandering at the thought of the Doctor.

Perhaps even more exciting were her meetings with Jenny and Vastra on her afternoons off in the basement of the bakery. She showed them the skills she’d learned in training and they responded with displays of intricate swordplay and daring martial arts. She discovered Jenny came to fencing by way of gymnastics and that Vastra was a master of not only fencing with rapiers but also with broadswords. Outdated as combat with swords might seem, it was teaching her some really important things about timing and dodging blows. After a few hours in the basement the three of them would emerge laughing and wander down the street into the Red Lion for a pint. They’d spend a few more hours reviewing all the blows they’d managed to land on one another, teasing one another over bad form or undignified landings. As the evening drew to a close Clara would walk home, completely content.

One Saturday they were getting settled in at the pub when Ricardo, who lived next door, came running in. “It’s Ben, Ben’s sick. Is anyone here a doctor?”

Clara and Vastra reacted immediately. “No, but she’s a constable and I’ve had some emergency training.”

“Please, come.”

The three women followed Ricardo, Jenny dialing for an ambulance as they ran. They found the young man on the floor. He wasn’t breathing.

“Vastra, you’re strongest, start compressions,” Clara directed. Jenny spoke to the emergency dispatch. Clara reached for Ben’s wrist. No pulse.

“Rescue breaths,” Vastra urged Clara. Jenny had run downstairs to bring the medics up. Ricardo was pacing. Clara bent to breathe into Ben’s mouth. As she met his lips she tasted something. Bitter almond. She pulled back.

“Ricardo, does Ben have any food allergies? An Epi-Pen?”

“No, no. No allergies.” Ricardo was wide-eyed with terror.

Clara felt Ben’s neck. Nothing. His skin was flushed. Pink. Far too pink. Pink and bitter almond. She searched her mind. Arsenic. Strychnine. Ricin. Bitter almond. She heard sirens and, for a moment, felt relief. Panic rose again quickly as Ben remained unresponsive.

A team of paramedics Clara vaguely recognized from the precinct hurtled up the stairs and rushed Ben onto a stretcher, Ricardo following after. “Bitter almond! His mouth smells like bitter almond!” Clara shouted after them. They nodded as they lifted Ben into the ambulance.

The women slowly walked back to the bakery, sitting quietly around the table in the back, waiting for news. Eventually Clara’s duty phone rang.

“Hello Commander Jensen. Yes. Yes. We were there. Me and my friends.”

“I’m sorry Clara, but he’s gone.” Her face fell. Jenny noticed and took Vastra’s hand. “Possibly a suicide, maybe a poisoning. Unlikely to be an accident, considering the substance. How well did you know the young man?”

“Only in passing, so no idea about suicide risk. But poisoning. It would surprise me, because who? He and Ricardo always seemed happy. But of course everything isn’t always what it seems. Cyanide then?”

“Yes, cyanide.”

“I smelled bitter almond when we tried to revive him.”

“So that’s where they got the idea to check.”

“Right.”

“Well, Constable, nice work. Unfortunately it didn’t save this young man but it may help us determine who, if anyone, is responsible. Thanks.” They ended the call.

 Clara rubbed her temples. A young man dead. A possible poisoning, on her beat. “He’s gone,” she confirmed to her friends. “Did either of you know him?”

“We know just about everyone around here, but yes, Ben was an occasional customer. Chamomile tea, most often,” said Vastra.

“Yes, and an almond croissant,” Jenny added, smiling sadly. “We had that in common.”

The detectives ultimately ruled Ben’s death a suicide. They couldn’t locate a source for the cyanide. They’d questioned Ricardo extensively but he’d been visiting his grandad all day in a care facility with sign-in forms and cameras. Video showed him entering and leaving at the times on the sign-in sheet and his granddad said he’d stayed all day. They couldn’t identify anyone else with a motive. True, there hadn’t been a note but then again there often wasn’t. The toxicology screens didn’t show a conclusive source.

Clara performed wellness checks on the grieving young man frequently, even on the evenings she wasn’t on duty. She shared how she’d lost Danny to an improvised explosive device while he served overseas. She wanted Ricardo to understand that he wasn’t alone in his grief but that, with time, he might find his purpose again.

One night they were sitting together on Ricardo’s patio, enjoying the last clear November night as they talked. “I was cleaning out his things earlier today,” Ricardo started.

“That’s good. Remember that you don’t have to decide what to do with them all at once.”

“Yeah.” He paused a moment and then took a small box out of his pocket, handing it to Clara. She opened it to reveal a beautiful golden band. “I found this. We saw it on a trip together, just last month. I made a joke that if he ever wanted to make an honest man out of me that would be the perfect ring.” He paused, eyes reddening. “And his phone rang the other day. Our favorite restaurant, confirming his reservations for our anniversary, reservations that were a complete surprise to me. Clara, why would he kill himself if he was about to propose? I just can’t understand.”

“Honestly, I can’t either Ben.”

After that night Clara started interviewing the neighbors. She needed to know if anyone had picked up on any signs. If this could have been prevented.

Martha, the doctor, had Ben as a patient. She said his last physical examination had gone well. And nothing on the mental health inventory she had her patients take.

Mrs. Murphy thought Ben had seemed glum about the fate of Ricardo’s flower shop, as his rent was rising again, everyone was being priced out. “Such a nice boy, used to help me in my garden” she’d said.

Rebecca and most of the others at her car repair shop didn’t know Ben well but expressed their concern for Ricardo, who they saw wander past at all hours of the day. One mechanic, Jimmy, had been on a few dates with Ben back before Ricardo but hadn’t really kept in touch with touch with him. Jimmy said they’d met playing rugby and that Ben had always been in high spirits when he’d known him.

Albert and Constance said they were surprised by the death. Ben had been a favorite babysitter for Lydia, always taking her to the park to play on the swings. Constance was expecting again and they were struggling to explain both loss and new life to Lydia, who still asked Ricardo where Ben had gone every time they encountered him.

Still, something wasn’t sitting right with Clara. Each night she was alert for more news. Someone out there wasn’t giving her the full story.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have one more purely fluffy chapter (feature a particularly impish Vastra and some Clara/Doctor moments) before we get back to killing off the locals.

Winter arrived and Clara spent her shifts all in wool, dodging snowflakes and more grateful than ever for the excellent coffee Gallifrey Bakery provided. She still didn’t have any leads on Ben’s death but at least nothing more had happened. Perhaps it was a suicide or an accident after all.

A few days before Christmas she, Vastra, and Jenny were back at their training, exhausting themselves after a few hours of throwing each other around and laughing.

“I should get back to work,” said Jenny. “I need to get the last of the decorations up before the holiday rush. We always go on extended hours for Christmas.”

“That’s good to know, I might pop in Christmas Eve for a pie,” said Clara.

“Going home to Blackpool?” Vastra asked.

“Not this year. Dad and Linda are taking Gran to visit her sister, who’s retired in Spain. I’ve got work on Boxing Day so I can’t go along. Just a quiet Christmas for me, a couple of movie versions of A Christmas Carol and a good book.”

Vastra and Jenny exchanged a look. “We would have invited you sooner had we known!” said Jenny.

“Oh that’s alright, I don’t want to impose. I like a good quiet holiday.”

“It isn’t an imposition Clara,” said Vastra. “And we always have quiet holidays. A full day in pajamas watching bad movies, with biscuits and mulled wine.”

“Ok, I’m sold. What can I bring?”

“Your beautiful face,” said Vastra.

“And crackers!” added Jenny. “And come on Christmas Eve. We’ve got a guest bedroom, it’ll be festive.”

“You’ve got it.”

Clara had a morning shift on Christmas Eve and then made her way to the bakery which was packed with customers even as the sunlight was beginning to fade.  She threw on an apron and tackled the mountain of dishes, freeing the Doctor up to ice more biscuits. Around 8pm Jenny sold the final pastries and the four of them celebrated with a toast. Clara found herself very sleepy, happily collapsing into the guest bed upstairs at Jenny and Vastra’s.

Clara was awoken suddenly on Christmas morning by a loud “Happy Christmas” and a flash. Vastra was standing over her with a Polaroid camera that had to be at least thirty years old, looking smug. Jenny stood nearby giggling.

“What’s that all about?” Clara kicked her blankets off.

“Vastra does this every year. Picture to hang above your stocking. Just because her hair is so short and utterly impossible to mess up doesn’t mean we don’t have terrible bedhead,” said Jenny.

“Hush, you both look lovely,” said Vastra. “I like my women au natural.” Jenny gave her a good natured shove.

Clara threw on her dressing gown and followed the other women into the living room. The Doctor was already sitting on the sofa looking completely disgruntled. Clara nodded at him. “Vastra woke you up too, I take it?”

“Evidence right there,” he gestured to a row of stockings set over the mantle. A photo of him looking especially wild-eyed, silver hair sticking nearly straight up, eyebrows looking positively dangerous, was pinned above the left-most stocking. “I don’t know how she gets me every damned year. I started locking my door but she always manages to get a key.”

Clara watched Vastra pin the most recent photo featuring her own face, eyes half open, above the stocking on the right. Jenny’s photo was next to Clara’s, her dark hair a tangled mess. Meanwhile Vastra’s photo was artfully composed, its occupant looking perfectly awake.

“Next year I set an alarm and we get you,” Clara threatened.

“Just try me. I do sleep with a sword next to my bed, you know. And a whip, but that’s for purely recreational use.”

Jenny blushed deeply and quickly tried to change the topic. “Presents!”

Clara had not had such a happy Christmas since she lost Danny. They had a warm fire and there was plenty of laughter and teasing. Clara surprised Jenny and Vastra with police-grade training equipment she’d ordered specially for their studio. They presented her with her own sword, intentionally dull for use in practice. She watched the other women gift the Doctor with tickets to a rock concert while he gave Vastra a watch (along with the story of how he’d tried to repair her previous watch and destroyed it) and Jenny a set of books.

Finally there were only two gifts left under the tree. Clara lifted a package wrapped in plaid paper and handed it to the Doctor. “Happy Christmas to my newest friend.” She watched with anticipation as he peeled off the paper. She hadn’t known him more than a few months and she didn’t know him particularly well but Vastra had provided some additional information that she hoped would help her get it right. She’d searched every record shop in the city over the course of two days but had managed to find it.

“Davros and the Daleks. Their only album, only one hundred released. How did you manage to find one? More to the point, how did you know?” he said, eyes wide, as he turned it over in his hands.  

“When I asked Vastra what you’d like she said there’s only one thing you’ve ever mentioned but she’d never been able to find it. I searched all sorts of shops but then I had the idea to check an old bookshop I remembered having records in their attic, a tiny place, not something Google would turn up.”

His face looked serious, almost puzzled. “Thank you Clara. This was the first record I ever bought myself. I’ve been looking for a copy since I lost the first one.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I’m just pleased you like it.”

“Well, go on then, open his to you,” Jenny said.

Clara tugged at the bright blue paper and uncovered a notebook. “101 Soufflés to Try” was written on the cover in the Doctor’s untidy scrawl.

“Clara, I was thinking about your soufflés, and your travel book, and I thought I could make some recommendations. The book contains 50 soufflés to try at different travel destinations and 50 recipes for international versions to make right in your own kitchen. And your mum’s recipe, tweaked to be Clara-proof, obviously, as the 101st soufflé.”

Clara threw her arms around him, knocking him further back into the sofa.

“You like it then,” he asked, voice filled with uncertainly.

“Yes you daft man, hugging means I like it. It’s perfect.”

“Who wants coffee?” Vastra asked, gesturing toward the kitchen.

“Oh me, I’ll help you get it!” Clara jumped off the sofa and followed her host to the kitchen.

Vastra paused in the doorway and looked up, a smile on her face. “Oh, would you look at that?” she asked, faking innocence, as Clara looked up to find a large sprig of mistletoe over the door.

Clara looked to Jenny, who shrugged back at her. “Another way she gets everyone each year. Even him.” The Doctor scowled at her, confirming he’d also been trapped in the kitchen doorway with Vastra.

Clara leaned in, pressing her lips to Vastra’s. Her first kiss in months was with her friend, the fencing instructor and accountant. It amused her and she found herself giggling as they carried mugs of coffee back into the living room.

The next few hours passed comfortably with the four sitting around the fire exchanging stories of their favorite Christmases and the mad adventures they’d gotten up to when they were younger. A group of carol singers gathered under the window only to be scared off by the Doctor who shouted “go away, pudding brains” out the window.

“That’s it, next year we’re making you go caroling,” Jenny said, rolling her eyes at him.

After lunch they gathered back in the living room with a pile of crackers, exchanging jokes and hats. Vastra asked Clara and the Doctor to go retrieve the wine from the kitchen. As they passed through the doorway Jenny called out at them. “You two, stuck under the mistletoe!”

Vastra was grinning. “Yes, tradition. Very important.”

The Doctor crossed him arms. “Now really, Vastra, Jenny. This stupid tradition is ridiculous, just because something is a tradition doesn’t mean-”

Clara stood on her toes and gently kissed him, smiling against his lips as his arms unfolded and fell to hang limply at his sides. As she pulled away she briefly caught him smiling back, eyes still closed. He looked so adorable she longed to tangle her hands in his unruly hair and give him a proper snog. Still, a time and a place for everything. She continued into the kitchen.

“Oh, she shut you up!” Jenny chortled from the living room.

Clara returned, wine glasses in hand. “I just didn’t want to sit through one of his lectures. At least not without a drink.”

“Feel free to kiss him any time he gets going about the damned ‘decline of the neighborhood’,” said Vastra.

“Deal,” Clara laughed, shoving a glass of wine into the glowering Doctor’s hand.

As the evening drew to a close Jenny and Vastra got increasingly cozy on the sofa, causing Clara to decide to call it a night. “Thanks again, I had a lovely evening. But I do have to work tomorrow evening, so I ought to get home and get settled.”

“I’ll see you out,” the Doctor offered, also looking for an out. Their hosts scarcely noticed as they exited the flat.

Clara noticed the Doctor was holding a coat. “Don’t you live just downstairs?”

“Thought I’d walk you home, seeing as it’s late and the streets are so empty. And I’d rather not hear what my dear friends are getting up to above my flat.”

She was a constable and he was worried about her walking home alone on Christmas? But she did like his company so she slipped her hand into his and headed toward her flat. He pulled back for a moment and then relaxed, allowing her to lace their gloved hands together.

“So, first Christmas in the city. How was it?” he asked as they walked.

“Pretty happy. Lovely friends, nice wine, mercifully brief carol singing.” She was feeling bold and decided to go for it. “Kissed a cute boy.”

The Doctor stopped walking, but didn’t release her hand. “Clara, I’m not a boy.”

“Everyone’s a kid on Christmas, Doctor.”

“Hmm.” He began moving forward again.

“Thanks again for the book. Really, it’s brilliant. Mum would have loved it.”

“It was nothing. I’ve been a lot of places, baked a lot of soufflés.” His face brightened again. “Now that record- that was something.”

“Just a lucky find.”

They arrived at her flat and he followed her up the stairs. She unlocked the door but didn’t enter.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, if I made you uncomfortable. Kissing you, I mean, and then hitting on you on the walk back.”

He looked bewildered. “You were hitting on me?”

“Generally when I call someone cute it’s meant as a pick up line.”

“I thought that was flirting?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course there’s a difference! Flirting is general, hitting on someone is more direct, and it indicates intent, for example, if-”

She dropped the bag she was carrying and reached up, threading her hands into his greying hair and kissing him. “Could tell you were going into lecture mode again,” she teased as they parted and she stepped through the doorway.

“That’s a very effective way to change my train of thought.”

“And just what are you thinking, now that I’ve called you cute, kissed you twice, and clearly told you I was trying to chat you up?”

His cheeks went slightly pink. “That I should ask you on a proper date. Next Friday, perhaps?”

Clara paused a moment. “New Year’s Eve? Bold move, Doctor.”

“Is it?”

“Yes it is New Year’s Eve. Yes it is a bold move. And yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

“Ok, say 8pm, Friday?" She nodded in agreement. "Good night, Clara Oswald.”

“Good night, Doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vastra's weird Polaroid thing is something a friend of mine used to do when we were teenagers at sleepovers. Thank god it predated the permanence of digital photo uploads! Vastra strikes me as the type to keep that sort of camera around for mischief.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Americans- Happy Independence Day! This was edited after I returned home from a party where, in the spirit of the holiday, we each had several glasses of bourbon so I apologize in advance for any spelling errors I missed!

Clara set off for the night shift on Boxing Day, beginning her rounds in the northern part of the neighborhood. She checked in on the Red Lion as it was closing, chatted with Mrs. Murphy who was just getting in from her Christmas trip to visit her son in Yorkshire, and encountered Albert who was out getting Constance ginger beer for her upset stomach. Snow was falling lightly as she rounded the corner to Rebecca’s shop where she was surprised to find a light glowing through the glass.

She approached the door to the shop and found it locked. No one answered her knock. She began to feel concern fluttering in her stomach. No one was ever at the mechanic’s after business hours. She rounded the corner and found the garage door open to the wind, snow drifting inside. A pile of coveralls lay on the ground. She stepped closer into the dim light and gasped. It wasn’t a pile of coveralls but a woman with long blond hair. Dropping to her knees Clara pushed the hair out of the woman’s face, searching for signs of life. Not breathing.

Clara punched her radio. “Oswald to dispatch. Requesting backup and medical, corner of Pine and Church. Unidentified female unresponsive inside the garage.” She felt the woman’s skin. Cold. Fuck. No pulse. And still no response. She found tears cascading down her face onto the woman. On to the body, she corrected herself. She gritted her teeth and stood, looking about the room. Carbon monoxide asphyxiation wasn’t uncommon in garage settings. But the door was open so there’s no way the concentration would by high enough to kill this woman. She glanced at the woman’s coveralls again, looking for a name badge. “Elyse.” This woman was called Elyse. Younger than Rebecca, younger even than Clara herself, maybe a trainee mechanic. Rebecca. Clara was going to have to tell Rebecca.

Constable Levin, Detective Sargent Ansari, and a medical team arrived and secured the crime scene. If it was a crime scene, Clara reminded herself. It might still be an accident, or a suicide. But she had a nagging feeling this was intentional. She rode back to the precinct with Ansari and Levin.

They ran the background from the identification materials they found with Elyse. Adrian and Levin were sent to notify her family. Clara was tasked with contacting Rebecca. They met up at the garage where Ansari was back to questioning the employees and examining the scene.

“She was a student at the local technical school. She’d just started as a trainee last week. Bright girl, really knew her way around an engine. Specialized in motorbikes, owned one herself. I didn’t even think anything of it when we closed up shop but she was still putting away tools. I never should have left her alone.”

“You didn’t cause this, Rebecca. And Detective Sargent Ansari is brilliant, she really is. If there’s something to find she’ll find it.”

Clara wasn't done at the precinct until nearly ten in the morning. She didn’t feel up to sleeping, so she found her feet carried her to Gallifrey Bakery.

“You look like hell,” Jenny greeted her. “What happened?”

“Can you talk for a minute?”

“Sure- we aren’t busy anyway. Vastra, can you mind the front?”

Vastra came out of her office, took a look at Clara, and nodded. “Absolutely.”

Jenny and Clara went into the empty kitchen, the Doctor presumably in his upstairs flat asleep. Jenny made Clara a strong cup of tea and sat down with her.

Clara took a deep breath and began. “It happened again. Waiting on the toxicology screen but I’ve got a bad feeling, Jenny. This time it was a young mechanic’s apprentice called Elyse. She wasn’t from Deerfield and had only been working in Rebecca’s shop for a week. I found her cold, long gone. Her poor parents. And Rebecca. And Elyse, who knows how long she laid there, unable to breathe, alone in the cold garage?”

Jenny put her arm around Clara, encouraging her to continue speaking. Clara took several deep breaths and began again. “This neighborhood has been having so much success. And now people are dying. What if it all collapses?” She didn’t say her biggest concern out loud. What if, next time, it’s you, or Vastra, or the Doctor?

Clara resumed her patrol the following night, extra cautious but knowing there was little she could do to prevent the subtle work of a poisoner. The autopsy came back and sure enough, Elyse had been killed by cyanide poisoning. Then, a few nights later a for-sale sign appeared in Albert and Constance’s window. Clara had the mid-shift on New Year’s Eve and knocked on their door.

“Hey, just checking up, how’s my favorite little Deerfield family!”

“Hanging in there,” Constance said, gesturing for Clara to come inside. “Lots of work though, selling the flat.”

“I was wondering about that.”

Albert sighed. “We’d been sort of vaguely thinking about it. We might want a bigger place with the second baby on the way. And we can get a lot for the place right now while Deerfield’s still a hot neighborhood. And after what happened to Ben and that young lady…”

“We just wanted somewhere safer, maybe get a doorman,” Constance finished. “Not that you and Adrian don’t do a great job patrolling. We just want the kids safe.”

“I understand,” Clara murmured. Everything was in flux. If the media got ahold of this story it could spell the end for the revival of the area. And she desperately wanted the citizens she served protected. Of course that did mean Gallifrey Bakery might not get priced out after all. But the decreased traffic in the neighborhood might hurt their bottom line enough to offset the lack of rental increase. And who knew who would buy the places like Constance and Albert’s that were being sold? Developers, likely as not, bringing up the costs of the whole place. She hated the thought of losing any of the local places, from Rebecca's shop to the Red Lion. Her head ached as she tried to sort through the complexities of the situation.

She was having a shower that night when she heard a knock on the door of her flat. She wrapped herself in a towel and went to answer, wondering who would be calling so late.

The Doctor stood in her door dressed in suit jacket and clutching a small bouquet of flowers. Shit. She’d completely forgotten. She opened the door.

“You look nice, have you had a wash?” He gestured at her damp hair and towel.

“Very funny. And Doctor, I’m so sorry, but we’ve had a big investigation at work and I completely forgot what day it is.”

His face fell. “Oh. Well, we could reschedule then if you like.”

“No, no, just give me a moment, come in.”

“Really Clara, you look very tired. And Jenny told me about that young lady down at the mechanic’s shop.”

Clara sighed. “That’s true. I’m really not in the mood to get dressed up, put on heels, fight the crowds. I just need a quite night in.”

“That’s alright, just let me know if you ever want to-”

“I didn’t say a quite night in _alone_ , did I?”

She watched as a lopsided smile slowly crossed his face. “Oh! Yes, we could do that. I’ll call and cancel the reservations, then I’ll duck out and pick up dinner.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go get dressed.” She briefly considered the various dresses in her closet before deciding to give into comfort. Sure, this was a first date but she was exhausted. They could try for formality some other time. She dressed in pajamas, wound her damp hair into a bun, and waited for him to return.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

His heart was making him do funny things these days. Like forgetting his principles because an attractive police officer kissed him on Christmas Day. Like making dinner reservations for the first time in twenty years. Like visiting a florist and dragging his old suit jacket out of the closet.

And then all that planning went out the window when he found Clara looking thoroughly disinterested in having a date, all wrapped in a towel with damp hair. If his heart was going to betray him like this it could at least do him the curtesy of falling for a woman interested in him. He was surprised at just how tight his chest clenched when she said she wanted a quiet night in.

Then something extraordinary happened- she said she wanted a quiet night in _with him_. His heart soared, delighting in having proven his brain wrong. It was a rare occurrence and honestly not altogether comfortable for him.

He cancelled their dinner plans, picked up a pizza, and returned to Clara’s flat to find her sitting cross-legged on her sofa in pajamas watching Cosmos. The original version, with Carl Sagan.

“Couldn’t find anything more festive on?”

“No, I like this, used to watch it as a kid. I’ve always loved the stars.”

Quick-witted, agile, helpful, and a bit of an astronomy nerd. Almost too on the nose, he ought to be more suspicious, but she just looked so inviting dressed down and cozy in her flat. He settled in next to her.

Some time later he found himself holding Clara’s hand and listening to her talk about the time she’d gotten lost on a hike, but it had all been worth it, because she’d managed to see the northern lights. She drew a similar story out of him, the time he was camped in the Russian wilderness and saw the same lights twinkling just along the horizon. He left out the mine recovery bits. He was so lost in comparing notes he hardly noticed that Clara had released his hand and was now resting hers on his knee. He certainly did notice when she gave it a soft squeeze.

“Errr. Time for me to shut up again?” he guessed, his eyes locked on hers.

“I should think so.”

He swallowed heavily, willing himself to breath normally. “You’re the boss.”

An instant later he felt her bring her lips to meet his again, more forcefully than before, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to beat wildly. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to do this. She seemed to pick up on his panic and pulled away.

“Doctor, are you alright? We can just talk if you prefer.”

“No, no, it’s alright. It’s just, it’s been a while for me.”

“That’s alright.” She smiled and he felt like there was no way he wouldn’t have a happy new year if Clara Oswald was in it. “It’s been a bit for me too, you know. Nothing remotely serious for several years.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean quite a while, Clara.”

She took his hand again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He paused for a moment, considering. He found he wanted to be honest with her, and if he wanted to be honest about why it had been so long he’d have to talk about River. Talking about River would lead to explaining why he’d been abroad so long, and if he told her that she might find out more about him than anyone other than Jenny and Vastra knew. It was a startling possibility and he wasn’t sure how she’d react to what he’d spent all those years doing or his position on certain things now. Then again she’d never shown him anything but kindness, a bit of teasing, sure, but compassion nonetheless. He squeezed her hand and decided that, yes, he’d be honest with her, right now. New year. New beginning.

“Clara. When I was a much younger man, you see, I-”

Clara’s phone began to ring. Rubbish timing. She mouthed an apology and answered it.

“Hello Jensen. Yes. Right. Actually, he’s-”

She was standing now, waking toward her bedroom. She entered the room and closed the door.

His mind began to race. An ill relative? Work? An ex?

Six minutes later she returned, fully dressed and looking tense. She stood in front of him for a moment and looked him over.

“Doctor. I’ve got to ask you to come with me.”

“I thought you wanted to stay in? Of course if you’ve changed your mind that’s absolutely fine.”

“Not, not out with me. To the police station with me. Detective Sargent Kanika Ansari has some questions for you.”

“For me? Whatever about? That man that attacked you a few months ago? Suppose I was right, Levin is a waste of public resources if he didn’t get it all down then.”

Clara was rubbing the back of her neck now, awkwardly staring down at him on the sofa. She looked sad and he found himself fighting the urge to stand and embrace her.

“No Doctor, not about that night.” Clara exhaled forcefully and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “About something else. There’s been another poisoning and, well, there are questions. Now please, let’s go, before they insist on sending a car to my flat at a quarter to midnight on New Year’s Eve.”

He pulled on his boots and they left in silence.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

They stepped into the precinct and Ansari swooped in, leading the Doctor off into an interrogation room. Jensen steered Clara into his office and closed the door.

“So, you were on a date with a suspect.”

Clara sighed. “He wasn’t a suspect when we made the date. Or until an hour ago. We’re friends, I spend a lot of time at his bakery.”

“Well, considering he’s now our chief suspect in the poisonings I’d say you’re too close to the investigation and probably the entire Deerfield beat. We’re going to reassign you while it’s pending. We can make a permanent decision later.”

“But I know the neighborhood, Commander. I know where to check, who to talk to.”

“You can share whatever you know with McMillan and Levin- they’ll help Adrian Davies cover the beat. And Ansari, since she’s lead detective on this one.”

“I honestly don’t believe the Doctor could have done this.”

“And that’s exactly why we can’t have your emotions interfering with our investigation, constable.”

“He works with my friends, can I at least let them know what’s going on?”

“We don’t know yet if he’s working alone or if he has co-conspirators. No contact with anyone associated with that bakery while the investigation is pending.”

“We don’t know he did anything wrong at all! Commander-”

“Oswald. We found the third guy six blocks from the damned bakery. Holding a half-eaten almond croissant from that bakery, all wrapped in a bit of paper printed with their logo. And tainted with enough cyanide to kill a man three times over.”

“Ok, but why? Tell me why a man who’s lived in this neighborhood for five years, never caused a problem, actually _helped_ me when I burst in in the middle of the night with a sobbing woman while being chased by a violent man with a cricket bat, tell me why a man like that would start killing people now.”

“They say he doesn’t like how the neighborhood’s changing.”

“Who says that?”

“Well, he did for one, when Levin interviewed him back in October about the domestic case. And a couple of the neighbors, the barkeep at the Red Lion, the dry cleaner, the old lady who lives above the market. Now, keep questioning the basis for this investigation and you’ll be suspended.”

Clara’s head ached and her eyes stung but she withdrew, excusing herself to go home and await news of her reassignment. As she rounded the corner leaving the station she pushed past several men and women with cameras. Great, the story was breaking in the damned media now. New Year’s Day headline. Fucking perfect.

Sure enough the next morning it was everywhere, all anyone in her neighborhood could talk about. She was horrified with herself. A bad constable, unable to separate feelings from duty, arguing with a commanding officer. An awful friend, unable to say fuck it to the whole thing and call Jenny and Vastra. A lousy human either way.

And the Doctor. She hated to think of him being held at the station. Worse yet, she kept having flashes of panic, wondering if she’d been falling for a murderer all along. She couldn’t let her feelings interfere with her objectivity. He didn’t like the changes to the neighborhood but was that really enough? He wasn’t stupid enough to poison his own sweets and expect to get away with it. Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest man in Deerfield. But he did seem to really care for Vastra and Jenny, she couldn’t imagine him putting them in danger. But she still couldn’t explain the poisoned croissant.

Her next assignment for the next day was patrolling a much rougher neighborhood. She found it utterly exhausting but still did not sleep. She pressed her colleagues for information about the Doctor but they wouldn’t talk. Adrian had finally disclosed they had him on a forty-eight hour hold while they tried to gather enough evidence to charge him. He seemed to think there was going to be enough, though they hadn’t found any cyanide at the bakery or his flat. After all, Elyse and Ben’s deaths were consistent with ingestion, cyanide was easiest to hide in food with almonds, and Ben was known for liking almond croissants. It all fit together so neatly.

She had the next night off and couldn’t sleep. She dressed and went to wander the streets of Deerfield, haunting the alleys behind the shops, trying to think of anything that might clarify the situation.

Gallifrey Bakery was all lit up. Of course, business must go on. Impulsively she tried the door and found it locked. Better that way, she wasn’t supposed to have any contact. But, no. She needed to talk to them.

She knocked and waited. A moment later Jenny rushed to the door, glancing over her shoulder as she ran.

“Clara, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know that, I just thought we should-”

Jenny was wide-eyed. “No, really. Leave, before Vastra sees you.”

Vastra called after Jenny, “darling, who’s knocking?”

“Just the wind dear!”

“There wasn’t any wind earlier.” Vastra stepped through the kitchen door. “Oh, you. Come to take the rest of us in, have you? Best leave now before I give you something to lock me up over.”

Clara met her gaze. “Vastra, it isn’t like that.”

“What is it like, Clara? You fit into our lives so neatly. You lead a man to think you care for him, then you got him arrested. He was right about your kind all along.”

“Excuse me, my kind?”

Vastra’s voice never rose above a tense whisper. “Police officers, you idiot! And soldiers, and anyone else who lives to sow the seeds of destruction in the lives of ordinary women and men. Do you know what the Doctor was doing all those years abroad? He lost someone, the love of his life. An anthropologist, River Song. She thought she was digging up pottery. Instead she dug up a shell planted by military police. He arrived to find scarcely enough to bury her.”

Blown apart. Like Danny. Her heart ached. “I had no idea. And for what it’s worth I-”

Vastra’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “Let me finish, you owe us that at least,” she roared.

Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “Constable Oswald, why do you think John Smith is called the Doctor anyway? He’s got a doctorate in history but never lectured at a university, never conducted research, never published a damned paper. For her. Because he cared so much, because that man loves so deeply, he gave up his entire life to make sure no one else had to know the pain he knew. He spent years, Constable, decades, sleeping on dirt floors, working odd jobs, trying to communicate in languages he didn’t understand. Risking his own life in a thousand ways, disease and injury and warzones, because he knows what love is, and  he knows what loss is, and he’d rather spare others from understanding his pain than accept an ounce of comfort or security for himself. He only stopped when he became a liability to the others in the field. Do you know why he’s so worried about our bottom line here? He sends so much back to his former colleagues so they can continue his work. Go on, go upstairs, look at his flat. You’ll see the photos and the letters. Every other fucking constable in this city has. I won’t even make you get a warrant. Be our guest, _ma’am_.”

Clara stood silent in the doorway of the bakery. She considered what he’d been trying to tell her that night and what she hadn’t told him in turn. She was sure now, this man was not a murderer any more than she was. She thought of his River, and her Danny, and she began to cry.

“Oh, feel remorseful now, do you? Those tears aren’t going to work on us. Get out of here, Constable.”

Clara couldn’t bring herself to reply. She stepped back out into the chilly January night.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

They’d charged him. It didn’t seem to make the least bit of sense to her but they’d done it. The media would go mad if three people died and no one was held responsible. Meanwhile Jensen was up for a promotion and had a wife gunning for a judicial appointment. Pin it on whoever and hope for no more deaths, make sure you look tough on crime. She’d seen it happen before.

Clara walked past and discovered Vastra and Jenny had shuttered the bakery. No use trying to continue when you were known for poisoning the locals.

She asked to take a week of vacation time which was mercifully granted- she assumed Jensen wanted her out of the way while the investigation continued. She gave herself that week to save the Doctor. She might never make it right with him, or Vastra and Jenny. But she could try to free him. And if that didn’t work she’d swallow her pride and call Nina.

She was a sucker for secret do-gooders of the world- her photo collage of wells Danny had dug in Afghan villages was proof enough of that. After that night at the bakery she’d gone and searched the Doctor’s name and unusual occupation and turned up an odd assortment of information that made her go from concern, to admiration, to maybe love. She realized she didn’t care if he loved her back, didn’t think he ever could after what he’d experienced, especially if he was blaming her like Vastra. And in that same instant she accepted it. She fell for a secretly kind man, suspected him of murder, and found him to be a hero after all.  She could never ask him to love her back but she could honor him by making absolutely certain that an innocent man was not subjected to a jury or a judge for a crime he didn’t commit. The police had treated him poorly enough. 

She operated carefully, on the fringes of the official investigation, making what she could pass off as social visits. Ricardo had closed Ben’s shop and moved away but still met with her for coffee at her request. No new information, but he agreed it couldn’t be the Doctor. She was grateful for that, since Rebecca had the opposite reaction, reasoning the police likely had the right man. No new evidence from either.

Albert and Constance told her that the latest victim had not been a Deerfield resident but had put in a bid on their flat. The unit had since sold for a number lower than his offer but still significant. Apparently a couple of murders weren’t a deterrent, especially with the newspapers shouting “suspect in custody,” from the front page.

Jimmy, the young man who had dated Ben and worked with Elyse was more evasive, not wanting to meet with her again. She added him to her list of potential people of interest.

Mrs. Murphy didn’t have anything useful to contribute, just that she had seen the last victim going into Gallifrey Bakery. Hardly new information. She’d rushed Clara off when a man in coveralls knocked on the door. Clara wondered if the old woman had hired a painter, and if she might be selling her place too.

Clara also checked with Nate, the dry cleaner, who said the victim was a new customer and had left a jacket he supposed would never be picked up. Clara inspected the jacket, searched the pockets, but didn’t discover anything helpful, just a card showing that the man had been an estate agent. Typical profession for someone passing through up-and-coming Deerfield.

Dead ends all around. She was getting desperate. Jensen still refused to clue her in on any aspects of the investigation and Ansari, Levin, McMillian, and even Adrian were treating her with caution. Jenny and Vastra weren’t speaking to her, she had no leads, and the Doctor was sitting in a cell somewhere, probably believing she’d betrayed him. She couldn’t keep putting it off. She dialed Nina’s number from memory and held her breath.

“Hello, you’ve reached private investigator Nina Barkley.”

“Nina, hi. It’s, ah-”

“Clara Oswald, or should I say Clara Pink?” Barely a dozen words into their conversation and Clara could already feel Nina taunting her.

“No, not Pink. Danny… well, Danny’s gone. Anyway, Nina, I’m in the city now. Can you meet?”

“Meet with the winner the of Nina Barkley’s best lay of 2010 award, alone, no Mr. Pink in the picture? Text me your address darling, I’ll be by in a moment.”

“Not a personal visit, Nina.” Clara found the line had already gone dead. For a brief moment she regretted bringing Nina into this but she really didn’t have a choice. She texted Nina her address and gritted her teeth.

Not twenty minutes later Clara’s door buzzed. “Clara, love, let me up.” She could already feel a headache coming.

Nina burst into Clara’s flat with same presence she’d had since they were teenagers. Clara had to admit she was as beautiful as ever, her long honey-blonde hair falling in waves down her back, her makeup expertly applied, her eyes filled with that old spark. Clara remembered why she had fallen for Nina so fast, within the first few weeks of meeting her at university. For years Nina had declared Clara too inexperienced for her tastes and they’d remained friends. Then one night they’d fallen into one another and a reckless romance had blossomed. The breakup was just as sudden and had briefly wrecked them both. Two months later Nina had called her, filled with apologies and I love yous, but by then it had been too late. Clara had met Danny and she’d known, just absolutely known, that Danny was something different.

Nina looked Clara up and down. “Oh dear, you look peaky. I take it this isn’t a social call? Pity I wore those red panties you used to like so well.”

Clara shook her head. “No, Nina, I need your investigative skills.”

“Oh. You do know my rates, right? I’m in great demand these days.”

“I, errr… how much for just an hour? Like a consult”

“Three hundred quid.”

Clara bit her lip, trying to think of how she might move some money around to cover the expense. “Ah, ok… ok. Yes, that.”

Nina pulled a timer out of her bag and set it for an hour. She sat down and turned to Clara. “Ok, sweetheart, spill.”

“You see, I’ve got this, um, friend. The Doctor, and he’s been accused of murder.” Clara gave Nina all the details she could about the murders, the neighborhood, the bakery, and the Doctor. She omitted that she’d been on a date with him when he’d been taken into custody; she didn’t want to give Nina an excuse to be less than professional about the whole thing. Nina took notes, occasionally stopping her to clarify a point. Once it was all laid out Nina leaned back and gave Clara an appraising look.

“You sure this Doctor guy didn’t do it?”

Clara’s jaw tensed. “Yes, absolutely certain.”

“Well, you’ve got to try a new line of questioning. You said the cops aren’t any help and you’d know, seeing as you are one. Have you looked at the bakery’s records, check if any of the victims actually bought anything? Questioned that Jenny girl who would have sold them the good? And what about the neighbors, anyone else you can pin this on?” Clara shook her head. “Well, get to it then! Find someone else to blame.”

“Do you think I can fix this, Nina?”

Nina looked into Clara’s eyes in that way that always made Clara feel like all of her secrets were seconds away from being exposed. She sighed. “Clara, Clara. You know you can trust me because I don’t care enough about any of this to lie to you. Yes, I think you can figure this out. If you’re sure, really sure that he didn’t do it it’s just a matter of figuring out who did. Step by step. Just trying being a smarter version of yourself, you know, someone with fewer emotions.”

“Where would you start?”

“Like I said, records. Receipts. And for god’s sake, none of the idiot bobbies in this district have been able to find a supply of the murder chemical! Try tracing that. Who might realistically have access to cyanide? Someone dealing with pesticides, a chemist, a metalworker.”

Clara rubbed her temples. “Why didn’t I think of all that?”

“Because I’m smarter than you. That’s not a judgement, just a fact.” The timer dinged.  Nina winked. “Anyway, that’s why I make the big money consulting and you’re a beat cop.”

“Nina, I-”

“Shush, not another word about the case or you’ll legally owe me another three hundred pounds, and then I’ll have to sue you.” Nina laughed. “We can talk about other things though. So, Danny. Who dumped who?”

“He’s dead, Nina.”

Nina’s eyes went wide. “Shit, Clara, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It was years ago now.”

“And you never called me because?”

“Because I haven’t really called on anyone since, not anything serious, at least.”

“Still haven’t given up on having kids, then?”

Clara shook her head. “I haven’t thought about it much since Danny, since he and I were so sure that’s what we wanted. But no, I suppose I haven’t.”

Nina gave her a sad smile. “We could have been great together, you know, if we hadn’t wanted such different things.”

“I know.”

“And if you ever want a quickie you know where I am.”

Clara blushed and looked away. “Thanks Nina, but I’m ok.”

“There is someone, isn’t there? The blush-and-dodge, that’s straight out of your playbook age nineteen. Who is it? One of those bakery lesbians… no, you said they’re married and you don’t do the homewrecker thing.” Clara looked down at her hands twisted in her lap. Nina leaned toward her. “Oh. Clara. Don’t tell it me it’s the murder-guy.”

“He isn’t a murder guy, Nina, he’s… he’s wonderful, but always hesitant, and he had this whole life before the bakery doing impossible things, really good things. And I walked him straight into jail. I don’t think it can be anything now. And I don’t even care because I have to save him, even if he hates me.”

Nina sighed. “Damn you and those eyes. You’re really pathetic, you know that?”

“What?”

“I’ve got a source I can call. Might be able to tell you where that cyanide came from, if it was purchased within the city.”

“How much?”

“Just this once, nothing. Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Clara reached out and wrapped Nina in a hug. “Thank you, thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nina was based on, and given the last name of, one of my favorite minor characters from Parks and Recreation if anyone happens to be a fan of that show.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, Vastra and Jenny will be back in the next chapter, promise!

The next morning Clara texted Jenny.

Clara: Hi, I know I’m the worst, but do you keep records of all purchases? I’ve got something I need to check out.

Jenny: I thought we said you’d interfered enough, Clara. Get a warrant.

Clara: Honest, Jenny, I want to help. Email me the records?

Jenny hadn’t replied but a few hours later a PDF arrived in Clara’s email inbox. She poured over the receipts. She couldn’t tell who the cash transactions belonged to but most of the transactions were credit or debit and didn’t give the names of any of the victims. That meant the poisoned treats might have been bought by someone else. The first hole in the case against the Doctor.

A while later Nina called.

“Hey, got your lead. Man named Evan Hodge, owner of Hodge Pesticides. He’s sold cyanide to some real estate holding company in Deerfield, Upstairs Investments. Granted they could be using the stuff for pest control but seeing as it’s January in England, not exactly like there’s an epidemic of ants or anything.”

“Wow, Nina, thank you! I’ll look into it.” Clara found the company’s address and went to take a look around.

A young man behind a desk greeted her as she entered. “Hodge Pest Control. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” she looked at the man’s name badge. “Todd. Hi Todd. I’ve got a minor infestation in my flat and I’d like to talk to someone about eradication.”

“Ok, what sort of pest?”

She should have planned more. Clara looked around the room and locked onto a poster of flying insects. “Errr. Wasps. Yes. Loads of wasps. Wasps everywhere.”

Todd looked at her skeptically. “Wasps? In January?”

“Uh. Yes. You know, winter wasp outbreak. Routine thing.”

“Right. Mr. Hodge!”

A man in coveralls came out of a closed door. “What do you want?”

“Lady here says she’s got a wasp infestation.”

“Lady, are you sure? Did you bring a dead one so we can identify it?”

“No, they’re much too fast for me. I just wanted to know what you’d do it you had to get rid of…wasps. In January.”

Hodge laughed. “I’m almost sure you don’t have wasps right now, dearie. Do you want to make an appointment for an in-house consultation?”

“Umm. Sure. Or do you have, like, a book you could show me? Maybe I can point to the right picture.”

“Fine by me, office is this way.” He led Clara into the back of the office.

Hodge’s office was cluttered, with stacks of invoices and spray bottles everywhere. Clara realized this might only be a two-man operation.

“So, what sorts of pesticides do you use?”

“Lots of things, some more targeted some more broad. Depends on what you’ve actually got.” His mobile rang. “Sorry, gotta take this.”

Clara was alone in the office of the supplier of the murder chemical, and she’d gotten here without her badge or police support. She wasn’t going to lose the opportunity. She crept over to a filing cabinet and started leafing through client profiles. She could hear Hodge through the door. “Uh huh, yeah. I’ve got neonicotinoids, sure.” She picked up the pace, scanning until she located a file labeled “Upstairs.” She had just cracked it open when she heard Hodges say, “call you later, we can arrange pickup.”

Panicked, she shoved the file into her purse and jumped back into her chair. Hodge returned. “So like I said, probably not wasps. Here’s a field guide.” He set a heavy book down in front of Clara. She clutched her bag closer as flicked through the pages. “Oh, umm. Looks like that one, I guess.”

“Miss, that bug’s native to Cambodia. If you’ve got an infestation of those you’ve got bigger problems.”

“Yeah?”

“It also looks nothing like a wasp.”

“Oh, right. I.., maybe I need an optometrist, not a pest control company.”

“More like need a psychologist,” Hodge mumbled.

“So I’ll be going then.”

“Call if you want us to give the place a lookover.”

“Will do, thanks.”

Clara glanced over her shoulder every few paces as she walked home. She’d committed theft. Stolen information that god knows what on it, probably account numbers, maybe even credit card numbers. Bad news for an officer. How was she ever going to get it back in place without them noticing it? Unimportant, what mattered was saving the Doctor. Focus on that.

Once she was home she locked the door and opened the file on her kitchen table. Upstairs Investments had bought cyanide alright. And then, curiously, paid to have the remainder picked up a few weeks later once their pest problem was eradicated. Hmm. She flipped the page and checked the name signed on the invoice for the company. Ethyl Murphy.

Her heart hammered. Was it really this easy? Under her nose this whole time. The old woman. Motive, what would be the motive? Leave that to the officers assigned to the case. She took a series of deep breaths. The Doctor, wasting away in a jail cell, because someone else had decided to start murdering her neighbors. Unbelievable. She shoved the file back into her bag and ran to the station.

“Ansari! I need to talk to talk to Ansari,” Clara panted as she arrived at the desk. “Urgent.”

Jensen came around the corner just then. “Oswald, I thought you were off this week?” Just her luck.

“Jensen. Got a new lead on the poisoning case. It isn’t Smith. It’s Murphy, Ethyl Murphy.”

“That old lady we interviewed? You’re nuts.”

“She has cyanide! I’ve got the record.” Clara slammed the file onto the desk.

“Easy there, Oswald, that’s a big accusation.” Jensen flipped through the file. “She bought it for her real estate company. If she owns multiple properties it’s perfectly reasonable she’d need to do some pest control.”

“But I didn’t find any of the victims’ names on the receipts from the bakery either. She must have bought the sweets and poisoned them.”

“You’re reaching, Oswald.”

“Jensen, you haven’t found any evidence the suspect ever had access to the poison. That’s bad policing.”

“ENOUGH,” Jensen roared. “Oswald, I told you not to interfere.”

“But sir, just look-”

“And where did you get this business’s file from anyway?”

“I, uh-”

Jensen’s face darkened. “Suspended. You are suspended.”

“I don’t think you’re-”

“One more word and you’re fired. Get out of here.”


End file.
